SWNOVELXO Chapter 19: 18. Seize of Grey forge
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A few days after the ambush.
In the world of Honor of Blade, time moved forward like a sword drawn in silence—swift, cold, and irreversible.
Where once stood a humble village of wooden huts and smoky hearths, the home of the Ash Clan now rose as a fortress of red brick and blackened iron. Blacksmiths clanged metal from dawn till dusk, grain silos towered like squat castles, and the scent of sweat mixed with hot coal permeated the wind.
The place had outgrown its name.
It was no longer a village.
It was Greyforge City.
The village square had been paved with flattened obsidian and the wooden homes burned down intentionally, replaced with fireproof brick structures. To the east, a thick wall, ten feet high and crusted in iron, surrounded the city like a clenched fist. Two gates—North and South—now served as its only entry points, manned by vigilant ash-armored samurai bearing long, curved spears infused with battle aura.
The transformation had been swift and necessary. The world had changed, after all. Demons no longer lingered at the edges of nightmares—they had come through rifts, hungry, endless, alien.
As Leo stood atop the northern watchtower, gripping his nodachi, he opened the clan panel in his mind.
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[Clan Overview]
Clan: Ash
Age: 20 years
Retainers: 15 Grey Samurai (Aura Rank: 3rd Form)
Members: 37 civilians, 3 Ash Samurai (Aura Rank: 2nd Form)
Vassal Clans: None
Properties: Blacksmith Guild (Medium-scale), Grain Storehouse (Minor), Watchtower
Source of Income: Two caravans (Limited range due to demon activity), local smithing contracts
Evaluation: A once-destroyed clan rebuilt on blood and grit. Now rising slowly as a regional power. Resourceful and disciplined, but surrounded by enemies.
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The streets below him were deathly quiet.
Families huddled behind bolted doors, mothers clasping rosaries carved from beastbone, children whispering prayers. Civilians didn't need to be told what was coming—they could feel the pressure in the air, the weight of dozens… no, hundreds… of presences beyond the walls.
Low-level demons. Discarded things. Scavengers. Bonebiters. Shadehounds.
Leo squinted toward the tree line. Black shadows squirmed under the forest canopy, barely visible. They didn't march like soldiers. They pulsed like a wound. Their screeches were shrill and maddening, echoing through the valley like broken glass dragged across iron.
He turned to his retainers—his Grey Samurai—gathered silently at his back. Their ash-gray armor gleamed dully in the overcast light, swords resting across their backs, spears planted into the stone like roots.
"Form the crescent wall around the southern gate," Leo commanded. "Protect the forge. Protect the grain. No ground is to be given unless I order it."
"Yes, Clan Lord!" they answered in unison, fists clapping to chests.
Just then, horns blared from the west tower.
They were here.
The siege began.
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Battle lines formed.
Grey Samurai struck first—silent and precise. Aura-enforced blades hissed through the air, leaving arcs of pressure in their wake. Their auras shimmered with dull silver—focused, honed, and dense.
"Steel Fang Slash!" shouted one samurai, his blade glowing red as it traced a half-moon arc through three Shadehounds, cleaving them in half.
"Weighted Step."
Another slammed his boot down, releasing a shockwave of brown aura in a ripple, sending Bonebiters flying like ragdolls.
The demons retaliated with mindless fury. Claws shredded flesh. Spears of bone were hurled like javelins. One samurai lost an arm to a Shadehound's leap. Another was torn in half, his dying scream swallowed by the roar of the swarm.
Leo leapt from the tower, aura blazing gold as he descended like a comet.
"Falling Star Cleave!"
He slammed into the center of the horde, his aura forming a radiant crescent that sliced through a dozen demons in one sweep. Blood and ichor sprayed across the blackened stone, hissing like acid.
Yet for every one slain, five took its place.
The siege devolved into chaos. Fire rose from the western quarter. Two forges were already lost. The civilians hadn't even finished evacuation when the betrayal happened.
The southern gate opened.
Grey-armored figures stepped out—not to defend, but to kneel.
"Forgive us, Clan Lord!" one shouted. "But we serve the stronger now!"
Their helmets clattered to the ground as they prostrated before a towering demon covered in white bone armor.
The swarm poured in.
Leo's heart clenched. "Traitors."
"Form the last line!" he bellowed.
The remaining samurai locked shields. Civilians were shoved behind. Spears bristled from every gap like a porcupine's defense. Wave after wave of demons slammed into the line—and died. But the aura reserves were draining. Men were falling. Hope was thinning.
And still, no help.
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Far in the forest north of Greyforge, hidden under the shadow of an old crypt tree, Arnold stood with his cultists—draped in white robes, each blind in one eye, sickles strapped to their backs.
"My lord, shouldn't we aid them now?" one cultist asked, fidgeting.
Arnold chuckled, eyes gleaming with amusement.
"No, not yet. A true protagonist is born in fire, not comfort. Let him burn. Let them despair. Gratitude tastes best when born from desperation."
He watched the rebellion unfold through a long silver mirror.
"Besides," Arnold added, "if we walk in now, heroes cloaked in mercy, he'll never sever ties with us. We'll be indispensable."
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But Leo knew.
He wasn't a fool.
He saw no aid coming, even though he knew Arnold lurked nearby.
He also knew—he was out of time.
He raised his blade, stained black with demon blood.
"Even if we fall, we fall like blades drawn—shining and sharp!"
The remaining samurai roared with him.
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And then it happened.
The sound of hornpipes echoed through the trees.
From the northern hills, the white-robed cultists charged—sickles flashing, chants pouring from broken mouths.
"Eye for the Void!"
They joined the fray like wolves let loose. Their aura was eerie, pale, and wrong—marked by the feather sigil on their robes—but they killed demons by the dozens.
Even as their blades carved, they wept blood.
The tide turned.
Demons, sensing something more terrifying behind them, began to retreat—screeching in fury and confusion.
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Leo watched them flee from the top of the wall, his breathing ragged.
But as he turned his head, his gaze locked with one lingering figure at the treeline—a thin, hunched scavenger demon with glassy red eyes.
It was grinning.
It didn't flee.
It bowed.
Then it vanished into the woods.
Leo felt his skin crawl. He didn't know why—but he knew this one. Not by name. Not by history. But in a way that went deeper.
A string had been tied between them.
Fate had chosen.
Enemies. Rivals.
Forever.
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